The dangerous game
“Yes. It looks like bad weather coming.” Karl agreed with the guide.
“We had better go at once”; and he took up his ice-ax, while John
settled his rucksack and threw the coil of rope over his shoulder.
The descent lasted till it grew dark, and the first dinner gong was
sounding when they reëntered the hotel.
Edris at once flew to Seton’s room and found that he had already
dressed for dinner. He embraced her passionately, and, kissing her,
cried:
“Oh, my darling! How long the day has seemed without you! I’ve not
been able to work. I’ve wandered about all day, and chatted with
people I don’t know, and been bored stiff. Well, darling, how did you
enjoy yourself?”
“Oh, Seti, it’s been simply glorious! I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.
Karl is a wonderful climber. He looked after me, and there were no
risks. John was with us all the time, of course.”
Seton placed both hands upon her shoulders and looked straight into
her face as he kissed her ready lips.
“Tell me, has Karl been making love to you?” he demanded seriously.
“Making love to me? What are you saying, Seti? Are you not convinced
yet that I belong to you?”
“He has said nothing? Swear that!” Darville cried.
“Oh, really, you are too jealous! It is all so very silly,” she
replied, releasing herself. “I must go and dress, or I’ll never be
down to dinner. Do excuse me, darling.”
And she rushed out of his room, leaving him standing beside his
writing-table. He could not shake off that strange premonition of evil
which had settled upon him as a cloud, which darkened with every hour.
That night Edris put on the prettiest of her dance-frocks, and all
three dined together in the great _salle à manger_ amid the gay
throng, the room ringing with buoyant, youthful laughter. The frock
was one which she had never worn before, and Seton sat wondering if it
had been put on in honor of Karl. He noticed, too, that the girl’s
conversation was mostly directed to the tall young Swiss, who, in
turn, showed her such marked attention. The fact was that the man who
was his friend held Edris in sudden and increasing fascination.
As usual, dinner was followed by a dance, and Seton played bridge,
leaving Edris to amuse herself. She never had any lack of partners,
but on that night she danced the whole evening with Karl. Darville,
from his point of vantage upon the orchestra platform, always had a
good view of the dancers. Hitherto, as Edris came round with her
partner, she would always exchange smiles with the drummer, but on
that night he could see how absorbed she was in Karl’s conversation,
and noticed, too, that she hardly cast a look at him.
Darville’s heart was heavy, though he kept a smiling countenance, and
drummed the fox trots merrily as usual. Once or twice the pair
disappeared from the ballroom, and then returned again to dance. Her
preference for Karl was now most marked, yet, even then, honest and
true himself, he could not believe that Edris was deceiving him. He
was still determined not to doubt her. He knew she loved him. He
remembered those love-glances which she had so often given him ever
since those days in Hove.
He endeavored to persuade himself he was mistaken in thinking they
were there no longer.
CHAPTER XXI.
HOW THE SCALES FELL
After breakfast next morning, as Darville sat writing, Edris came in
dressed ready for ski-ing. She wore black, with pale-blue scarf, and
turn-overs of the same shade over her boots, and looked extremely
smart.
“I’m just off!” she cried with a flush of pleasure. “Karl is taking me
for a little run. We’ll be back about eleven, and then we’ll skate. He
is going to-night, but wants us to go down to Interlaken on Wednesday.
His mother has invited me to go and see her.”
Seton turned in his chair and, taking her hand tenderly, looked up
into her sweet face, and said in a calm voice:
“Edris, I do not wish to go to Interlaken again.”
“Why not? You have so many friends down there, and Karl and his mother
will give us both a good time.”
“This invitation of Frau Weiss is rather sudden, is it not?” he asked.
He rose from his chair, and embracing her, added: “Edris, I want to be
quite frank with you. I am not blind to your flirtation with this man.
I have told him of our engagement, and if he now flirts with you after
that, then he will be my enemy. And for my enemies I have, as you
know, no compunction and no remorse.”
“My dearest Seti,” she said with a forced laugh, “I’m sure you are
jealous. Now, admit it. I assure you that there is nothing in it, and
that you see dangers where none lie. I love you, darling, and, doing
so can you ever think that I could love another man? You surely cannot
think me so base as that!”
“You told me once, Carina, that if I were ever jealous I would know
what it meant--a living hell. It is the tortures of hell I am now
suffering.”
“Why?”
“Because--well, because I fear to lose you, darling,” he said, rising
and taking her in his strong arms.
“But you told me in England that only silly fools were jealous, and
that happily you would never know what jealousy is!” she retorted.
“Besides, Karl is going to Canada very shortly, and I shall never see
him again. Do you forbid me having--well, just a little snow romance,
dearest?” she asked, placing her arms around his neck and drawing him
to her, in that delightful coaxing manner which she so often assumed.
“I don’t wish to interfere with your pleasures in the least, Edris,”
he said in a rather strained voice. “But from what I know, I feel that
your love for me is fast melting away.” Then, in a voice choked with
emotion, he added: “I know I’ve been wrong to believe that you could
ever really love a man of my age. It is humanly impossible.”
“My darling Seti!” cried the girl, holding him tightly and kissing him
upon the lips. “I do love you! Believe me, I do. I repeat that neither
Karl nor any other man shall ever come between us. Our souls are
affinities; our views of life are entirely in common, as well as our
tastes and our general outlook upon things. Besides, Karl is a
foreigner, and he has to go abroad to work because he has no money.
Poor fellow, I feel so sorry for him!”
“Is he so much to you that you feel sorry for him?” he asked in a tone
of annoyance.
“No; only I think his people haven’t treated him fairly. He can get
nothing to do here in his native Switzerland. You have influence in
England. Don’t you think that you could get him a job?”
Darville reflected. He recollected that secret report concerning Karl
Weiss he had read and signed.
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “You see, he is a foreigner, and he
looks so very much like a German officer. He will, no doubt, get on
well in Canada.”
“Will you help him?” she asked.
“If you wish. But I cannot see the motive of this unusual interest of
yours in a man you haven’t known much more than a few days.”
His remark confused her. What would he think if he knew the truth? she
reflected. But he would never know. How could he?
“Only because he is extremely nice to me, and I’m sorry for him.”
“Too nice, it seems,” he blurted forth, releasing her, and turning to
his writing-table.
“Oh, Seti!” she cried reproachfully. “You are horrid to me this
morning. Surely you know too well that I love and adore you? You asked
Karl up here to entertain me, and now you don’t approve of my
association with him. I really don’t think it nice of you, dear.”
“Forgive me, darling,” the man said, kissing her again. “I’m sorry if
I am harsh with you. But you know how deeply I love you, and how I
fear lest this man should steal your heart from me.”
“I know. I realize it all, Seti,” she said. “But trust me, I beg of
you. Trust me, and I will prove to you that I am true.”
Then she went forth to meet Karl. As she went down the stairs to the
hall, where he awaited her, she held her breath. What if Seton ever
discovered the depth of her deceit? Half an hour later she was
standing with Karl in a clump of snow-covered firs, at a secluded spot
to which nobody ever came, and he was holding her in his arms, while
her dark head nestled upon his shoulder. The resentment she had shown
at the refuge hut on the Männlichen had given place to fascination
and admiration. He had declared openly that he meant to win her, and
already he had succeeded in stealing her heart from the man who was
his host and friend.
Their conversation was that of lovers, and their kisses passionate and
oft repeated.
She told him of what Darville had said, whereupon he replied:
“You must be careful. He’s very suspicious. He must have no proof that
we are lovers. I know, darling, how difficult it is for you not to
show your affection for me,” he went on, holding her hand, and looking
into her eyes with that fatal power of fascination which women could
not resist. “But you must be careful. Pretend to love him more than
ever, and you will disarm his suspicions. I leave to-night. But you
must come down to Interlaken on pretense of seeing my mother, and we
will spend a whole glorious day together.”
“But he will want to come, too!”
“You must not let him. Tell him, if you like, that you want to meet me
again as test of his love and trust in you. If you are clever--as I
know you are, Edris--you will work it all right. Telephone to me
to-morrow morning from the post office. I shall be waiting to hear
your dear voice at ten o’clock.”
It was plain that the man was exerting over her a most extraordinary
and uncanny fascination. She felt herself impelled to comply with his
wishes, and, somehow, she found herself unable to resist his
blandishments. Every now and then, as they stood locked in each
other’s arms, Edris referred to Darville as the man to whom she was
engaged, but each time she mentioned him he made some disparaging
comment, which now no longer caused her indignation, as it had done on
that mountain-climb.
Meanwhile Seton Darville had become a changed man. He had left London
bright and buoyant, in confidence that Edris loved him to distraction.
But that introduction at Interlaken station, when they arrived in
Switzerland, had proved fatal to his happiness. Strong man that he
was, he tried to blind himself to a fact that was patent, yet in vain.
As he sat there at his table he realized that Edris’s professions of
love for him were false, and that, alas! it was but natural that she
should love a younger man. But when he reflected that his rival was
his friend, a spirit of fierce resentment arose within him. The man
was a cad, for, knowing the truth, he was deliberately stealing the
woman he so fondly loved.
The truth became forced upon him. Edris was playing him false!
“I love her, God knows! I love her! It is the first time I have ever
loved. She is all to me--my very life!” he cried aloud in agony as the
pen dropped from his nerveless fingers, his grief-stricken eyes fixed
upon the wall.
Then, unable to bear his suffering longer, he buried his face in his
hands and sobbed loudly, while the tears fell in large drops upon the
manuscript he had been writing.
“Edris! Edris!” he called aloud, his voice low and harsh. “You are
mine--mine! Come back to me, darling! Come back to me!”
And suddenly, the pale, broken-hearted man fell upon his knees beside
his chair and remained there a long time, praying earnestly in
silence.
When at last he rose he was calmer. Again he tried to deceive himself
as to the true situation. His passion for Edris had wholly possessed
his soul. Without her he knew he could never live. For her he would
give all his fame, his reputation, his popularity--everything. But
she, who only a little time before had vowed that she loved him and
that he should be her husband, had cast down his great love and
trodden it underfoot!